


Partners in Crime (WinterHawk Fic)

by chazpez



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Avengers, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, How Do I Tag, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-06 20:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15202796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chazpez/pseuds/chazpez
Summary: As you may have seen from the dodgy tagging, this is my very first post to AO3 despite having an account for over a year! I have no idea what I'm doing. This will probably need editing and re-uploading several times before it's right.The evolution of Bucky and Clint, relatively canon, romance abound, probably some angst. Will fit in to a separate story that will be uploaded one day. Spans several years, though this story will start after Civil War. Maybe some chapters set before then one day, who knows? Definitely not me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading this. Thinking of starting my first foray into Marvel fan fiction with something that's canon (but only when it suits me, to be honest). Chapters are going to vary in length and I'll be honest right now I have no schedule for this - I am not a responsible writer. Who. The fuck. Knows. 
> 
> I am totally here to make friends, either here or on Tumblr - Ihavemymomentsstill

“We’ve met before, you know. Budapest, Monte Carlo, Kiev and Rome. Thought you were following me around for a while.” Clint counted the incidents off on his fingers, stuffing chips into his mouth as soon as there was space. It made words come out muffled, but he figured Bucky could understand him just fine.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, we were never on the same side, and you went for me a couple of times but hey, that’s just business, right?”

Bucky eyed him for a moment, brows furrowed as though he was working on a complex math problem, or some shit.

“Sorry?” He asked, like he wasn’t sure if the apology was wanted or even warranted. It didn’t look like Clint was expecting him to fall prostrate at his feet begging for absolution, but it seemed polite to apologise for attempting to seriously main and/or kill the other man. The blond was covered in so many scars it must have been difficult to keep track of them all. Clint dusted his fingers off and lifted his shirt, exposing a ridiculous set of abs and even more scars. He pointed to his left kidney.

“Nah, you missed, look.” He twisted back and forth to show Bucky his front and back, still crunching away on his chips. “Was through and through. Slowed me down some, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a little faith, trust and pixie dust.”

“I never miss.” This was said with a certainty that rarely came from Bucky anymore, tiny adorable frown pulling his eyebrows together again.

“That’s my line, dude.”

That drew the ghost of a smile, and Clint took that for a win, giving himself a high five in his head, though it disappeared again as quickly as it had come.

“Everyone seems to know me but me.”

Clint blinked stupidly for a second, chips sitting uncomfortably in his stomach all of a sudden, and he swung his arm around the other man before he could even consider if Bucky would want to be touched. He didn’t get stabbed for the effort though, so he called that a win too.

“Aww, sad face, put that away, it’s doing things to me. Plus, you’re right - that must be frustrating as shit. Tell you what; if you want, we can get everyone together to tell you about yourself. Steve can go last or else none of the rest of us will get a word in. Or we can all shut the hell up, you take the time to figure things out for yourself, what feels right, and when you’re ready we can introduce ourselves.”

He looked Bucky in the face when he didn’t get an answer, forcing himself to lock gazes and stare into the grey-blue looking back. Bucky looked as though he’d voluntarily swallowed broken glass. His mouth kept opening as though he was going to answer, then he’d stop again when no sound came out, his throat working anxiously to swallow. Clint didn’t let himself get distracted by that sight; Bucky was clearly getting himself worked up and becoming more distressed by the moment. Clint almost slapped himself in the face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Steve mentioned you were having trouble expressing preference, should have remembered that. You don’t have to answer me.” Bucky heaved a breath, relief flooding his posture. It broke Clint’s heart a little to see. “What if we make it so you don’t have to say the words out loud?” He gestured quickly signs for both [yes] and [no]. “That make any difference?”

Bucky paused, head tilted to one side like a puppy while he considered. Clint thought it was even more adorable than the tiny frown. He leant casually against the counter whilst he waited, perilously close to whistling in an affectation of nonchalance.

Bucky signed, and Clint whooped and leapt over for an actual high five that time, instead of settling for one in his head. He redirected the movement to run his hands through hair at the last moment, and congratulated himself on the smoothness of the action.

“Awesome, I’ll reword the question, then.” He held his hands out, palms up, as though weighing up options. “Yes, we’ll tell you about yourself, or no, leave you alone to figure it out?” He raised his left hand, then right respectively, indicating the options.

[No.] came the reply. Clint wanted to hug the other man. It felt like a hugging moment – he’d probably just go for it if it was anyone other than Bucky he’d be hugging. Not that Bucky wouldn’t be great to hug, Clint knew. Those biceps looked like they could give the best hugs. But Bucky still wasn’t coping all that well with unsolicited contact, and Clint felt he’d already pushed his luck with the arm over the shoulders. He was on a great streak for not getting stabbed – nearly six weeks – and he didn’t want to jeopardise that. Nat had promised a mystery gift if he made it two months. He loved mystery gifts. They were mysterious. So, no hugging the scary but beautiful brainwashed assassin without permission for at least another two weeks. Not that he was that scary, really. Clint shook his head minutely, plastering the grin back on his face.

“Awesome, no problem Buck. Come on, Tony’s turning up for dinner this time and I want to pitch him my idea for a device that lets you translate what a dog says when he barks. I feel like recently Lucky has been, like, shouting at me or something. He’s definitely not happy, I swear he tried to trip me down the stairs the other day, and that’s not cool. I thought we were pizza pals, you know?” He knew he was talking complete garbage, but Bucky seemed fine with the monologuing, so he kept at it. As he turned to leave, he felt a metal hand grip his and looked down at it curiously. He looked back up to find Bucky gazing at him intently, but before he could get lost in the steel of those eyes, Bucky carefully signed a name.

[Steve?]

Clint nodded firmly.

“I’ll talk to him, tell him to back off a little. We’ve all been on the wrong side of an intense Captain America. Don’t blame you at all.”

Bucky nodded, before signing one more question and pointing to himself.

[Call me James?] Clint beamed.

"You got it, man."

That got a clap on the shoulder in response, fingers perhaps lingering a little longer than necessary, before Bucky - James - wandered away in the direction of the elevator. It was the first time he had willingly touched anyone since they’d all come back to the Tower. Clint felt this ridiculous warmth in the pit of his stomach, and politely waited until the elevators had moved away before breaking into a happy dance.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint sat perched on the arm of the sofa, watching Bucky reading a book in the corner of the common area. It had been quiet in the Tower for all of half an hour, so they were both just trying to relax, appreciate the peace. Nat and Steve were off at SHIELD, Tony and Bruce in the workshop. Sam doesn’t even go here. It was the best time for Clint to say the thing. He had been thinking about the thing since their conversation a week ago. Since then, Bucky had separated himself from most people, though he seemed to tolerate Clint’s presence the best.

Steve had taken it particularly hard, when Clint had explained that Bucky – James - wanted some time to figure things out on his own. He only referred to Bucky as James when it was the two of them, liked to think he was special, to be the one to call him by that name. Nobody else had seemed overly bothered; Nat just nodded in understanding, and Tony had mumbled to himself about not wanting to speak to Bucky at the best of times, so he didn’t care one way or the other. Steve, though, had looked utterly betrayed at his childhood best friend (which, really, was totally the problem in the first place), and Bucky had stared back impassively, back ramrod straight, as if the man in front of him was a perfect stranger. They’d not spoken since.

He wasn’t even being subtle, he realised - gazing at James from across the room as he read Hitchhiker’s Guide. Turned out James loved to read, practically burning through novel after novel since he'd arrived. James probably knew the moment Clint had turned toward him. He probably wasn’t even actually reading. A couple of locks of his dark hair had fallen out from behind his ear and was covering his face, just enough that Clint couldn’t see the storm-blue of James’ eyes, which was disappointing. There was a couple of days’ worth of stubble on James’ chin that he kind of wanted to plaster himself against, but that was creepy. And would probably get him stabbed. Maybe it wouldn’t be creepy one day (and wasn’t that something to hope for), but it definitely was today.

Clint rubbed his sweaty palms against his jean-clad knees and placed one foot slowly on the floor, as though trying not to spook an animal. Or be spotted by the super soldier who was definitely not watching Clint’s every move. Now or never to say the thing. He stood up, walked exactly ten paces toward James. Stopped. Cleared his throat. Waited. Held his hands together behind his back and stood at parade rest so that he at least looked as though he was calm and in control and definitely not sweating because he was nervous. He wasn’t nervous. Highly trained assassin agents did not get nervous.

James looked up, but didn’t close the book. His expression didn’t even appear curious, just carefully blank. He just watched as Clint shuffled from foot to foot. Even if he’d been lucky enough over this last week for his presence to be tolerated by the silent man, there really hadn’t been much in the way of conversation, signed or otherwise. It had really just been two people, existing in roughly the same physical area, saying nothing at all. It crossed his mind (very unhelpfully) that there hadn’t even been any sort of comradery, no passing each other the salt or sitting on the same couch even, to watch some banal documentary.

Still, Clint had enjoyed his time in the general vicinity of James. And now he had things to say. Clint had never been the sort of guy to keep things bottled up, and his honesty had gotten him into a few scrapes over the years. But life was short, and James was – well he was kind of broken right now, to be fair, but who wouldn’t be? Clint had been broken once, too, but people like them didn’t stay broken forever.

Oh God, this was a bad idea. Say the thing and run away. James had been in the Tower for two weeks. It wasn’t enough time. He probably thought Clint was just trying to keep tabs on him while Steve wasn’t around, especially after he’d promised to keep the super soldier out of the way whilst James pondered life, the universe and everything. Steve had asked that, as it had turned out, but Clint had very firmly point out that he wasn’t a babysitter, and Bucky was the last person out of them all that needed watching. He’d survived for two years on his own in Romania. He was going to be fine.

“So,” Deep breath. Say the thing. Run away. Excellent plan. “I like you. Like, like you like you.” How many times can a person fit the word ‘like’ into one sentence!?! “Do with that information what you will.”

James blinked. Cocked his head to one side as if considering, lips pursed. Clint chose that moment to beat a tactical retreat.

“OK.” James croaked. His voice was weak and scratchy from disuse, and it sounded like his throat was sore. He’d almost certainly spent the last week saying nothing at all. Clint both loved that gravelly tone and wanted to force feed him lemon and honey tea to fix it - he bet James’ voice was magical when it was in full working order, all deep and low and growly. Clint swallowed.

“OK, cool, uh… catch you later.” he grinned and turned to saunter off. Play it cool. Managed to stop with his nose an inch away from the door frame. Corrected his trajectory. Waved behind himself vaguely. Definitely did not increase his pace to a steady clip as soon as he turned the corner.

Did not look back to see James’ small smile, eyes crinkling a little as they watched him go.


	3. Chapter 3

“Nat! Nat, Nat, Natnatnat. Nat!” Clint flew into the common area, sliding in his socks like something out of Risky Business. She didn’t bother to reply, just raised an eyebrow in his general direction, appraising. Clint was out of breath, and somehow looked even more of a mess than usual – a pants leg was tucked into a sock, his belt still untied and he was wresting a purple t-shirt over his head. He appeared to have come straight from the shower; it didn’t even look as if he’d bothered to towel himself off before coming to find her. She slid slowly to one side of the couch so that he would have somewhere to sit, but he didn’t seem to be having any of it, pacing as he was in front of her.

“I need a grown-up.” He declared solemnly, still stomping backward and forward. “I’m in over my head, I need an adult, Natasha, you’re the most adulty adult I know, and you gotta help me.”

She sat up straight, did a little wiggle of her hips to get comfortable in her seat, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands tucked under chin. “Do tell.”

“It’s James.”

“Rhodes?”

“No, asshole, Barnes.”

“Oh, he’s James, is he?”

“Shut up.”

“When did that happen?”

“Since he asked me to call him James. Look, Nat, his name is not the problem here.”

“And what is the problem, then?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I got laid?”

“Ah.”

“Too fucking long is the answer - ”

“One year, nine months, three days.”

Clint stared at her for a moment in dismay. “As if that is something you know. That is sad, Nat. Anyway. His face, Jesus Christ. It is a problem. It’s so beautiful it’s like looking into the fucking sun.”

“Right.” She nodded in commiseration, but he knew she was mocking him. She was not being sincere in her commiserating.

“But it’s not right, that’s my problem. Poor guy has been here like a month, doesn’t trust a single one of us as far as he can throw us, not even Steve.” Clint paused, considering. “Though with that arm, he could probably throw one of us pretty far –“ He shook his head, clearing the mental image of James and all those muscles working to throw something, anything, that was heavy “ – doesn’t like to use his words, and I want to help him, we all do, but every time I get near him… He looks at me Nat! He – he looks at me, straight through my fucking soul, you know? And when he speaks! So fucking growly, literal growling comes out of that mouth! Makes me want to get on my knees – the other day, right, we’re down at the range?”

Natasha wasn’t even sure Clint knew she was still there. She wondered idly if she could go and grab a drink and come back before he even got to whatever point he was making. She knew it had been a long time since anyone had caught his eye, but when they did… Well. There was being interested in someone, and then there was this manic pacing and monologues that could rival a villain in their intensity. She sort of wanted Barnes to walk in whilst Clint was waxing poetic about his eyes, just to see what would happen. Maybe she could subtly text him to come up to common area for an unspecified emergency.

“So he’s shooting this rifle right, and you know what that does to me Nat, you know how I got that competency kink when it comes to shooting, and then the fucking gun jams. And the sound that came out of him! And then he snapped the rifle clean in half and stomped away! It was glorious and I need to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life, God, could you imagine, I bet he makes that noise in bed, right before he –“

Clint choked on the end of his sentence as he spotted the man in question leading casually against the doorway. He looked back at Nat, face ashen, to find her grinning as though it was the best day of her life. She sent a surreptitious thumbs up to the nearest camera to thank Friday for reading her mind and taking it upon herself to make this happen. Easily one of the top five moments in her life, ever. He’d definitely heard Clint yelling away long before he’d decided to stand within the man’s eyeline – and that was interesting, Nat thought. James could have listened in and not even let Clint know he was there; he could have slunk away again, and they’d have been none the wiser. His face was a mask of careful blankness, but then it always was. He caught Clint’s gaze, and very deliberately gestured for him to continue.

“-comes.” Clint finished on an exhale, whole body deflating. Then he seemed to catch a second wind, and drew himself up again with a deep breath, staring back into the grey of James’ eyes. “Anyway, I don’t want to overwhelm the guy, you know? He’s been through some shit, but he’s working really hard to get things together and I don’t want to jeopardise that with me being my usual asshole self. I told him that I liked him and ran away, so I think that sums things up nicely. Start as I mean to go on, I guess.”

Nat was pretty sure they’d both forgotten she existed at this point, with the way they were staring at one another. She wished she’d had snacks, though the crunching of popcorn might have distracted them from eye-fucking one another. Clint had started with his head up and back straight, but the longer James leant casually, scrutinising the situation (and that’s what he was doing for sure – Nat could practically hear the cogs whirring), the more Clint began to slowly crumple in on himself. He was worrying at the bottom of his t-shirt now, lip caught between his teeth. She very quickly lost patience, however.

“Oh, put him out of his misery, _James!_ ”

“Shut _up,_ Nat,” Clint hissed, turning around to glare, but James seemed to take the direction as an order, moving off from the doorway and coming to stand behind Clint whilst he was still making faces at Nat for getting involved in his moment. James lifted his arm, and poked Clint once in the shoulder with his metal hand. He stiffened, closed his eyes and inhaled, before spinning comically on his heel and pasting on an exaggerated smile.

“Hi, James,” He signed at the same time without thinking, “fancy seeing you here. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” Came the gruff reply.

“Coolcoolcoolcoolcool. Well. This has been lovely. I’m going to run away again now.”

Clint moved to make good on his promise, and high-tail it out of the common area to hide somewhere small and quiet and undiscoverable but was stopped by a grip on his wrist that yanked him back into the arms of the Winter Soldier. He held out his palms to stop himself from face-planting the guy (not his sexiest move, mashing his face against someone else’s, but he’d managed worse) and got a good handful of well-muscled chest instead. Clint gave himself a mental high-five for avoiding any inappropriate groping and –

He was being kissed.

He was being kissed _really well._ By James Barnes, no less. James’ lips were slow but insistent against his, soft, pulling back slightly and moving in to kiss Clint over again. He got with the programme and gave back as good as he got, tilting his head to the side to give James a better angle and opening his mouth little, nipping at James’ lip as he felt the other man’s arms slide from his forearms up to his shoulders, before finishing the descent down to the small of his back. He knew Natasha was watching, the little voyeur. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes she was positively vibrating with glee. He tried to stare her away, but it wasn’t working, so he slid his palm across James’ chest and flipped her off instead, without breaking the kiss. Kissing James’ was the best.

“Get the fuck out of here.” James somehow managed to order between kisses, eyes having found Clint’s and pinning him to the spot. He was clearly talking to Natasha, but Clint almost made to move away anyway. His voice was low, that perfect timbre that made Clint want to get on his knees and go to work on James’ belt, but he couldn’t do that here, could he? Probably would if he was asked, witness or no witness. “Romanov. Now.”

Natasha fired off a lazy salute and hopped silently over the back of the couch she’d been sitting on through the whole episode. Probably to go and tell everyone she could find what had happened. She was such a gossip. Terrible habit for a spy. Or a good one, in a way, Clint supposed.

“Growly, huh?” James was smirking now, a one-sided twist of his lips that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Clint could only nod dumbly, and shiver as James moved in close to whisper in his ear. “Want to go test out your theory?”


End file.
